SPN fanfiction - Jack and Dean in trouble
by spnfanfromeurope
Summary: This takes place sometime after my stories "Sam in trouble" and "Jack in trouble", but the link isn't that tight, and all three stories can stand alone. Warnings: Chapter 2 contains non-sexual punishment spanking, with a belt, no smut, no ships. It is a bit gory in chapter 1, but no worse than the show itself. I own nothing, I just like to play around.
1. Chapter 1

Sam slipped quietly through the crack in the door.  
He settled the unwieldy, heavy duffel bag more firmly on his shoulder – it was cumbersome to try to sneak up on anything while juggling the thing, but he was not prepared to risk going into this particular fight without all the back-up arsenal he could think of.

He looked towards the back end of the dusty dilapidated barn, Dean should be there somewhere by now.

This whole thing had been planned carefully, and if everything panned out, they actually stood a chance of getting the job done without risking life and limb.  
He stopped for a moment, tilted his head and listened – Jack should be coming in at his left, using his teleporting to get through the side of the barn where there were no openings.  
Was that a whoosh of wings? Nah, not yet.

He crept forwards to duck behind a moldy bale of hay.  
Slowly, silently, letting the duffel bag settle on the floor. Good, not a jingle from the assorted weaponry in there. Shotgun up, sliding onto his knees, using the haybale as support, he aimed at the giant silhouette of the jætte. The brute was rocking back and fort making a grumbling sound interspersed with some rather ghastly crunching.  
Good, the thing was absorbed by its meal. Sam did his best to avoid thinking about the fact that the meal in question had been a person once, and worse, likely a child, since jætter was known to go for the younger ones by preference.

Without knowing precisely how he knew, Sam realized that Dean had made it to his post – he looked over. There, the glint of a stray sunbeam hitting a gun, good.  
Anytime now. Just had to get Jack into place.

It had required a lot of research, but in the end, they had found the answer in an obscure Islandic saga: Iron, silver and oak.  
Since there was no reason to take unnecessary risks they had opted to make bullets out of those three items. Of course, a bullet made entirely of wood wouldn't exactly work, but the shotgun Sam was carrying had shells containing a mix of tungsten and oak pellets. If that failed, he had a simple sharpened oak stake in the duffel bag at his feet.  
Dean was going to be shooting his beloved .45, loaded with silver bullets. Those were par for the course to the Winchesters, not like the damn oak shotgun pellets which had been a real pain in the ass to make. That had been one hell of a long night of doing unusual woodwork.  
Jack had been given a quick tutorial on using a shotgun, and was going to be in charge of the iron part. That had been the easiest one, since steel birdshots should do the trick nicely.

There, that was the whoosh he had been waiting for – Jack was in place.  
The jætte raised its head looking towards the sound.  
What the Hell? There was Jack, not behind cover, but walking straight towards the jætte, eyes already glowing. Sam started yelling at Jack to get back. He heard Dean's voice from the other side of the barn. Jack ignored them and kept approaching the jætte.  
The jætte threw something, it sounded like a bone, negligently to the side, got to its feet in a surprisingly athletic, fluent movement, while reaching down to pick something up from the ground.

The terrified, painfilled scream of a child suddenly filled the air. Sam raised the shotgun, but the jætte was swinging from side to side, the helpless girl dangling by an ankle. There was no way to take the shot without hitting her. Sam's ears popped as the air pressure skyrocketed. Jack was striding into the middle of the barn, enveloped in a yellow haze, eyes glowing and a hand held in front of him.  
"Put her down," he roared.

"Dammit Jack," Sam heard Dean roar. "Get back."  
Still no response, the air was tingling with power, but the jætte – a creature straight out of old Norse mythologic - seemed to be no more bothered than it would have been by a strong gust of wind. It focused on Jack and sprang easily to meet him, still holding the shrieking child in one hand.  
With its free hand it gave Jack a roundhouse blow, which threw him into the air, slamming him against the wall. He fell in a limp heap and didn't get back up.

Sam was digging through the duffel for weapons alternative to the guns. He stood up, an axe in each hand, when Dean's voice froze him to the spot.  
"Take me instead."

Dean stepped towards the monster, holding out his empty hands. He pointed at himself, then the child, and made a motion with his hands indicating a switch.  
The jætte tilted its head and said something in a guttural language. Dean did the hand signals again. The jætte lifted the child up in front of itself and looked quizzically from child to Dean. Dean held his hands far out from his body, and bowed his head.

The jætte carelessly threw the child aside, then reached for Dean, who did nothing to get out of the way or fight back, but just as its claws were about to close on Dean's shoulders, Sam got there and swung the axe hard at the monster's right arm.

It was like hitting solid wood, but at least the jætte stopped trying to grab Dean and went for Sam instead. Ducking under one swinging blow, Sam tossed the second axe to his brother, then came up behind the jætte, chopping at its knee while continuing to move in a circle behind it. Dean swung the axe at the arm, Sam had ducked under.

For a while everything was motion, the two hunters circling, ducking and turning like wolves attacking a bear. The jætte was large, head and shoulders over Sam. Worse: it was incredibly fast and agile.  
Things were not going well. Sam was beginning to think that they had bitten of more than they could chew this time, going up against this thing without an army of hunters for back-up. Or Thor. Having Thor the Jættehunter along would have been nice. The thought sauntered through Sam's mind as he skipped breathlessly away from one long, clawed arm.

Finally, Dean managed to chop through one Achilles tendon and the brute went down with an eerie howl. After that it was sheer butchery. The jætte had surprisingly thick skin. Sam's shoulders were aching from lifting and chopping with all his might. It was like chopping firewood, except quite a lot gorier. Firewood don't tend to spray green tinged gooey blood into the air when you hit it. It doesn't make nearly as much noise either.

Then Jack was there with a machete and they took turns chopping at the thing, until it stopped trying to stand up.  
"Guns!"  
Dean shouted, and they all went for their originally planned weapons of choice. Standing side by side, they levelled the guns at the head of the jætte, who was unbelievably still staring at them, trying to fight back, chomping its teeth at one shotgun barrel, that came almost within reach.  
"Now!"  
Three guns roaring in the barn. The jætte slumped lifeless.

Sam turned towards the child, who was whimpering in the dusty half-light, but before he had gone two steps Dean was roaring at Jack.  
"We said to stay back!"  
A dull thud followed, and Jack went to his knee from the punch. Sam flung himself at Dean and manhandled him away from Jack.  
"Stand down, dammit Dean, stand down! Stop it."  
He had to block a punch himself, but he managed to get Dean some steps back and shook him, hard.  
"What the hell are you doing, Dean? Calm down, we'll handle this at home, but you need to calm down first!"  
"Sam, he –"  
"I know, I know, but not now. Go get the car around, I'll take the kid. We have to get out of here."

Still furious Dean stalked out of the barn, Sam clasped a hand to Jack's arm and hauled him back up.  
"Are you ok, Jack?"  
"He hit me!"  
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that, you scared him, and with Dean – fear becomes anger. We'll sort it out back at the bunker, but right now, we have a child to help."

The girl was perhaps 7. It took a while for her to calm down enough for Sam to talk to her. By some miracle she wasn't badly hurt. Her left arm was broken. She had bruises everywhere, but she was conscious and able to give her name, and, even more helpful, her mother's phone number.  
Jack carried the girl out to the car, while Sam called the mother, presenting himself as a state trooper. Dean occupied himself in the meantime by setting the barn on fire to get rid of the evidence.


	2. Chapter 2

They had delivered the exhausted girl to her relived parents and were back in the kitchen of the bunker, when Dean turned to Jack and said harshly, still angry:  
"We need to deal with this."

Jack looked up at Dean with large eyes.  
"I remember – punishment and then forgiveness, right?"  
"Uhm, well, yes… "  
Sam grinned in the background, seeing his brother so obviously taken aback. Dean looked like a man, who had just stepped where the last step of a staircase should be, but wasn't.

Jack just undid his belt and jeans, pushed them to his knees, and turned to the kitchen table. His hands went to his boxers, but Dean harrumphed that he had no desire to have a bare ass in his kitchen, thank you very much, so just leave them on. Bending over, Jack grabbed onto the opposing edge of the table and set his forehead down on the cold surface.

Dean blinked a few times, cast a quick look at Sam, who shrugged, then he undid his belt buckle. He doubled the belt up, and put a hand quite gently on Jacks back.

"Why are you getting punished?"  
"I didn't obey orders on the hunt"  
"And?"  
"I didn't follow the plan."  
"The most important thing?"

Jack looked over his shoulder at Dean.

"Come on?"  
"I … don't … know?"

Dean suddenly pulled the young man up by the arm and hugged him hard.

"You put yourself in danger, when there was no need to do that!"

Shoving the startled Nephilim away from him, and pushing him back over the table, Dean lifted the belt.

"We – will – not – loose -you."  
Every word punctuated by the sound of leather on skin, as Dean smacked the belt against Jack's naked thighs.

"You - are – family."  
Those words accompanied by three strokes where they would be felt every time Jack sat down for the next couple of days or so.

"You - are – important."  
The boxers truly didn't offer much protection against the worn leather of Dean's belt.

"Do - you - understand?"  
Nope, not much protection at all.

The belt dangled loosely in Dean's hand, as he waited for an answer.

Jack gulped for air and wiped his sleeve over his face, getting it wet with sweat and tears.  
"Yes, I know, you need me to find your mother."

Three hard strikes to the tender skin at the top of his thighs had Jack up on his toes, yelling a bit.  
Nephilim or not, when Dean Winchester decided that he was going to spank you, he made sure you knew, that you had been spanked.

"No, Jack," Dean said, as he pulled the belt back through the loops of his jeans, missing the fiddly one on the back-left side. "You are important to us, because you are you, and because you are family. Not because of what you can do."

He pulled Jack up, steadying him, when he reeled a bit on wobbly legs.  
"We will not lose you"  
The word "too" hovered in the air, unsaid.

Then Dean pulled Jack into a hug, holding him fiercely and safely in his strong arms. Jack felt his tears seep into the tattered plaid shirt of the man who had hated him at first, but by now had become family, brother, friend.

Sam was suddenly at Jacks back, joining in the hug.  
"We mean it, Jack. Don't do stupid shit like that. There's enough things out there that can hurt or kill us, don't take risks unless there are no other way."  
As Sam said those words, he leaned back a bit and caught his brothers eyes. Dean flinched, looking away quickly.

Jack nodded into Deans chest. "I understand. I'm sorry."  
"All forgiven, kid. Pull up your jeans, let's get something to eat."

Dean started to walk towards the fridge, when a large heavy hand landed unbidden on his shoulder.  
"Not so fast, Dean."  
"What?"  
Sam pulled Dean around to face him.

"We have something to discuss too, you and I."  
"What are you talking about, Sammy?"  
"You tried to make a deal with that thing."

"What?" suddenly Dean blushed. "Uhm, well, yeah, but… it's not like it was a demon or anything."  
"Not an excuse Dean, we agreed: no more deals. At all or for any reason."  
"But…"  
"No."  
"Listen Sammy…."  
"No."  
"Really, I… "  
"No." Sam's voice was calm, but implacable.

Dean opened his mouth, shut it again, sighed.  
"Where do you want me?"  
"Table seemed to work fine."

Dean strode rapidly to the table while opening his belt buckle, again. He yanked his jeans down and started to bend, then turned back to look from Jack to Sam then back at Jack again.

Sam smiled slightly: "Won't hurt him to see that the rules go for everybody in this family. Now bend over."

Dean huffed, but obeyed, while Sam quickly undid his belt.  
Jack couldn't help but flinch when the belt landed across Dean's ass.  
Sam spanked briskly, not seeing any reason to talk while he was focused on getting the lesson through his brother's thick skull.

The belt sang in the air and danced over Dean's back-side from the middle of his ass all the way down to just above his knees. Then back up. Up and down.  
Dean went in short order from stoic motionless silence through stomping and jerking accompanied by grunts and groans to hiding his face in his arms and just panting helplessly.

It wasn't actually all that long before Sam stopped and said gruffly:  
"Stand up."  
It just felt like forever to the three men in the room.

Dean pushed himself up carefully and, after a brief look at his not-so-little little brother, gingerly got his jeans back on, although he left the fly and belt loose.

That being done, he looked quizzically at Sam:  
"What?"  
"Not getting through to you, am I?"  
"What the hell are you on about?"  
"I don't think that made much of an impression on you."  
"Really? Impression? You damn well left an impression, you left welts."

Dean put a hand tenderly to his throbbing backside.

"Not talking about your ass!"  
"Then what the hell are you talking about?"  
"I'm talking about getting it through that head of yours that the rules go for you too. No deals, no putting yourself in unnecessary danger and oh, by the way: No punching your family!"

Dean shifted uncomfortably, not knowing what to say to this assessment.

Sam sighed. "I don't like this, Dean, but I think you will like it even less, and if that is what it's going to take…"

Beginning to feel apprehensive, Dean stepped back a little.

"Uhm Sam, what are you thinking?"  
"That since your hands are the ones that was doing deals and punching people, maybe the lesson can get home through them. The pathway from ass to brain seems to be a bit too long for it to get all the way up there."

Confused Dean stared at Sam, who was methodically rolling the belt around his hand, until only about 4 inches were free.

"Lift your hand, palm up," Sam said with deliberation.

Dean complied slowly, dropping his head, closing his eyes. Then he felt a hand on his chin.  
"No, you will look at me, while we do this."

Eyes met, the belt lifted and fell. It was ice, it was fire, it was pure pain.

"Left hand – look at me."  
The sound seemed louder than it should have been. Dean's ears rang, and the entire world skipped two inches sideways, making him stagger on his feet.

"Right hand."  
He could barely hear the words, but his hand rose anyway. He looked into his brother's eyes without being told again.  
He was dimly aware that Sam was holding back, not at all hitting as hard as he could have, but everything seemed to be cottony and dreamlike.

Sam's eyes, Sam's belt, the blaze of pain, the look of fear in his brother's eyes. The one clear thought:  
"Sammy, my Sammy, is scared of me."

Left hand, fire, ice, pain.  
"Sammy isn't scared of me, he is scared *for* me."

The realization hit him like a punch, the world flooded back in, everything they had done and been through: Losing himself to the mark of Cain, becoming a demon, losing his memory, Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, all those angels, all those demons, all those sons of bitches.

All of it crystalizing in his mind with the one thought that he had terrified Sam today, making him fear that he would lose his brother once again, maybe for good this time.

He felt all the blood leave his head, pooling into his feet as that realization made his legs just buckle. He landed hard on his left knee, but it didn't matter, nothing mattered except to show Sam that he understood, had finally understood, the lesson Sam was trying to teach.

Helplessly he lifted his right hand again, holding it out, offering it up for punishment, tears starting to flow down his face, looking up at the one person who had always been the center of everything.

Sam looked down at his brother, lifted the belt, then violently shook it from his hand, tossing it away as if it had caught on fire. He let himself fall to his knees, felt tears fall, as he pulled his brother close, holding onto him with hands and heart.

"Lesson learnt, Sammy," the words half choked by tears.  
"Good."

And then:  
"Bitch."  
"Jerk."

And just like that the world was once again back on it's rails. Not running smoothly, because when had the Winchesters ever been in for anything but a bumpy ride? But at least it was running again


End file.
